Barrage of Introspection
Television silenced, I sit in the quiet solitude that screams at me. Paper and pen in hand, but I can't write a word. The thoughts are too loud. Anger pushes at the periphery, but gets tramped down by berating words. I stand and pace, dispirited. Outside, it's too bright as the hot thirsty trees sway, and I become entranced with the blinding green movement. Too soon does the reprieve of a moment become an onslaught of more unerring thoughts. I turn, dejected, and stare at the paper again. My last sentence- "I need..." I need what? A silent riot ensues in my mind, loud enough for me not to ignore. Not this time. I look at the soft skin on my forearm. I look at the highways of veins. Could I? Yes, I could...but would I? Would it make the screaming stop? If red wine blood drips down my arm would I feel relief or at least a temporary lull? It's so inviting... But I can't. It would feel good... But I won't. It would make everything go away for a bit......
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